


Show Me Your Heart

by mc_writer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Boys In Love, Falling In Love, Graffiti, Instagram, M/M, Photographer Harry, Street Artist Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mc_writer/pseuds/mc_writer
Summary: Harry Styles wants a big love.Louis Tomlinson has a secret he hasn't told anyone.Can the photographer who wears his heart on his sleeve convince the art gallery owner that maybe it's time to let someone in?





	Show Me Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harioandlouigi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harioandlouigi/gifts).



> To be honest I loved all of the prompts I was given. I wish I had the energy and time to write them all. This was very close to something I'd been thinking about for a long time. I was not 100% loyal to the prompt, I hope you don't mind and I really hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> This was the prompt:  
> Harry has been a fan of an anonymous, but quite famous street artist for a while (think Banksy – he must have an easily identifiable style, and/or sign the artwork with a pseudonym, and/or claim the street art on a website), and he always makes sure to go see the artwork in person whenever he hears that a new one has popped up somewhere.  
> One night, he’s walking home really, really late, and he stumbles upon someone who is clearly “Banksy” putting the final touches on his newest masterpiece. He reacts loudly enough to startle “Banksy”, and when the street artist turns around, Harry realizes that he knows him – “Banksy” is Louis, whom he knows from … (wherever you’d like).  
> Personally, I’d love it if Harry had only seen a serious and uptight side of Louis before, making the realization even more shocking. Louis could be Harry’s goody-two-shoes coworker, or Harry’s niece’s teacher, or even Harry’s boss, …
> 
> Any limitations or failures are entirely due to my own fault and have nothing to do with the excellent prompt I was given.
> 
> As I always say, it takes a village to write a fic. Biggest thanks to gettingaphdinlarry, who navigated through first drafts that made no sense whatsoever. Thank you for your patience with me. I hope I didn't give you a heart attack. To myownsparksnow, thank you for the generous last-minute manips. To hevab, for the eagle eyes that picked up minute errors and who made sure this is in proper British English. You all make the work of fic writing so much more fun and the thought of doing this without you is too terrifying to entertain. Thank you.

This was the time of day “A.M.” liked best. That brief, indefinite period when the night wasn’t ready to give up the ghost and daylight was nothing more than a dream.

This was when the elusive street artist’s best work happened, when the streets were dark enough to stay hidden, but there was still enough light to see. Just him, a blank wall, his supplies and nothing else. These were the moments when he felt most alive, and even though he was alone, these were also the moments when he felt most connected. To people, maybe to the world, even. Because, yes, when push came to shove, A.M. could probably say something and make himself understood. But words didn’t capture everything. Not really. He didn’t trust his words as much as he did his hands. With his spray cans and stencils, A.M. felt powerful. He could say something beyond words. He could put up something up on some random wall, in the middle of the city that would be beautiful and true and important and that would speak to someone who might see it.

That was what A.M. hoped anyway. Every time he put up something new, he hoped that someone would see it and even if he didn’t know them, even if he never met them, it was something they would share.

And the world felt that much smaller. 

That was what art was for, wasn’t it?

The next day, A.M. couldn’t shake the idea that maybe somehow, he had touched someone by his work. He caught someone’s eye on the train and wondered if they saw it. The pretty girl who sold him his morning cuppa smiled at him and he thought: _Did you see it? Did it make you feel something?_ But A.M. only smiled back, paid for his tea and continued on his way. 

The city was a puzzle.  People lived side by side in flats, but barely knew their neighbours. They rode to work, shoulder to shoulder in crowded trains, but didn’t make eye contact, or ate in coffee shops but hid behind newspapers or their gadgets. It took something really special to make people to look up.

Louis Tomlinson, art dealer and gallery owner, made it his business to understand what made people look, what got people’s attention. Sometimes, his morning commute turned into something special.  He turned the corner to see a small crowd of people gathered around a wall waiting for a turn to take a photo of the art that had bloomed on it overnight and he paused to watch them.

“It’s sick, right?”

“What?” Louis turned to the voice, surprised.

“This piece, it’s sick. A.M. is awesome, don’t you think?”

“Oh. Yeah, awesome,” Louis managed to reply. He scanned the street art, and the people standing to admire it, and nodded. Not all great work was in museums and gallery walls.  Sometimes he wondered if this way was better.

\---

Harry sat on the sofa, a half-drunk cup of coffee on the table beside him and a plate of toast on his lap. He idly scanned through the telly channels, finally deciding on a morning chat show. He sighed and bit off a corner of toast.

His flatmate, Liam Payne, emerged from one of the bedrooms, saw Harry on the sofa, and shook his head.

“Is that the extent of your plans today, Haz?” Liam asked as he prepared his own breakfast.

“Don’t be judgy, Liam. It’s too early in the morning for that,” Harry said, his voice listless.

Liam held up his hands. “I’m not judging. I just think you need to get out more. You need to get out, end of.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need to go out.”

“Well, I beg to disagree.” Liam stirred his coffee, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I mean…I hate to…”

“Judge?” Harry’s eyes flicked to Liam.

“Fine. I might sound like I’m judging, but I swear to you, I’m just concerned. That’s all. You hardly leave the flat, you don’t work anymore, and you never even come out to the pub for lad’s night,” Liam shook his head. “I’m worried. Like, when I get busy with work…you’re just…here. Alone. It’s not right, mate. It’s not, like…healthy.”

Harry sighed.

He couldn’t deny it. Liam was right. He spent most of his days puttering around the flat, browsing the Internet, and watching ridiculous daytime telly. 

And yes, when Liam wasn’t home, Harry was alone.

How had he ended up like this? He had never thought of himself as a sad and lonely recluse. Once upon a time, Harry had a different life. He was busy. He worked hard and played hard.

Harry’s gaze fell on his camera bag, gathering dust in the corner.  It felt like it had been ages since he’d picked it up. It wasn’t too long ago that Harry Styles had been considered an up-and-coming photographer.  He had gotten published in several magazines, had a growing client list and an extensive portfolio that rivalled many other photographers in the city. Harry had also been active on social media, with a significant number of active followers. Harry bit his lip. He hadn’t even opened up his Instagram account since…well, since Nick.

His relationship with Nick Grimshaw had been…complicated. When it started, it was everything Harry wanted. Nick was smart, funny, interesting, with a larger-than-life personality. And it could not be denied: they had real chemistry together. They first met when Nick’s agent had contacted Harry to take promotional photos that could be used for newspaper or magazine stories or for his book jackets. They had hit it off right away. Nick was charming and funny and talented, and that wasn’t a baseless opinion. Harry had actually read his books, so he knew of what he spoke.

But beneath the surface, Harry saw something more. When Nick stayed up late at night, sat in front of his computer, desperate for a flash of inspiration, Harry caught a glimpse of another side of him: not the joker or the clown, just a man with a dream. Harry was a witness to the struggle and desperation of writing to meet deadlines. But he saw the hope too, when the muse was generous and the words came easily.  

Harry understood Nick. They were in the same boat. Different tools, maybe, but they were both reaching out, trying to deliver a message. Harry thought that maybe Nick would understand him too.

And maybe that’s where the trouble started.

Because it turned out Nick was only interested in one thing: himself.

When Harry and Nick were together, at their very best, it was like watching a fireworks display. They were flashy, brilliant, bright, great to have at parties. And they attended a lot of them, especially after Nick released a best-seller and was acknowledged as the great new hope of British fiction.

For a while, Harry had loved it. He had gone to all the events, the book-signings, the parties. He had even volunteered to take photographs, to document Nick’s rapid rise to the top. When Nick declined his offer, Harry realised that maybe they really weren’t on the same page.

“So, the book tour,” Harry said, as he poured a glass of wine for Nick. “James suggested I come with, take photos. He said he can always use photographs, for, you know,” Harry grinned, “promotional purposes.”

Nick choked on his sip of wine. “Haz, you’re not serious, are you?” 

Harry frowned. “What do you mean? It was James’s idea.”

Nick shook his head. “I’ll have a word with him. No offense, Harry, but this book tour is a big thing. I mean, everything has to be quality. You know, professional.”

Even remembering it now, the words stung. Yet, Harry had gone anyway. He didn’t take his camera, he left it to the “professionals,” like Nick wanted. After the initial hurt had worn off, Harry let himself enjoy it. What was the point of having a famous author boyfriend if you didn’t take advantage of the perks?

But Harry soon grew tired of the circuit and of tagging along. He didn’t want to have to come up with witty repartee over tasteless hors d'oeuvres at yet another book launch or book club reading. Sometimes, he wanted just a fry up at home, feet on the coffee table, watching telly. Or a night out at the pub for a pint and some chips. 

And Harry guessed that was the beginning of the end. 

He’d tried to make it work, but when Nick began accepting invitations without even telling Harry about them, Harry had known their relationship wouldn’t last.

Liam had called it early. But Liam had never been a fan of Nick’s, and Harry should have known that was a sign. (Everyone got along with Liam and Liam liked everybody. He was a ridiculously nice person.)

“No Nick tonight?” Liam had said, as he waved the bartender down for another pint.

“Nope. Just you and me, mate.” Harry lifted his glass in salute. 

“Haven’t been seeing him around much,” Liam said, his tone casual. Harry shot him a dark look.  
  
“Just say it.”

“What?” Liam raised his eyebrows. “I’m just making an observation.” 

Harry laid his forehead down on crossed arms. “I think it’s over,” he said, his voice muffled. Harry felt the tell-tale pinprick of tears in his eyes when he felt Liam’s arm come around his shoulders.

“Aw, mate. You gave it a go, didn’t you? It’s all anybody can ask. It takes two and you won’t mind my saying, I think you’ve been doing most of the heavy lifting in your relationship anyway.”

Harry let out an ugly noise that was a cross between a chuckle and a sob and looked up to meet Liam’s warm gaze.

“No wonder I’m so tired.”

“You made a joke!” Liam squeezed his shoulder. “See? You’ll be okay."

“How do you know?” Harry muttered as he rubbed his face. “Like, how do _you_ know, Liam? You’re single!” His tone was accusing. 

Liam shrugged and took a sip of his beer, his expression placid. “I just do.”

Harry had leaned against Liam, grateful for his sturdy shoulders and even sturdier presence. For a moment, the heartache wasn’t so sharp and Harry could consider the possibility of maybe making it through to the other side without breaking down.

Harry hadn’t realised what he’d given up in the course of his relationship to Nick. When he was with Nick, everything was about Nick’s writing and Nick’s career. And Harry’s photography, which had always been something he’d done, had fallen by the wayside.

And now, here he was. Stuck at home, not working, not going out, on the receiving end of one of Liam’s lectures. 

_How had he let this happen?_

Liam sighed. “Look. I need a photographer for tomorrow. I’m doing an interview at an art gallery, The Anchor, and I want photos to go with the story. I’ll tell my editor I’m bringing you. He likes your work. I mean,” Liam rolled his eyes, “he liked your work, Back when you actually took photographs.”

“That’s harsh, Liam.”

“It’s only because I care. So, if I were you, I’d go out today. Warm up. Remember you used to do this. A lot. Remember how good you are. Tomorrow,” Liam said, his voice determined, “we start fresh.” Liam put on his jacket and picked up his bag. He made his way to the door, then hesitated and looked at Harry, a sympathetic smile on his face. “Haz,” Liam began, “I know that thing…with Nick? You were always better than he gave you credit for.  He never appreciated what he had with you. I just…I hate to see you give up on yourself.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll get out now. Dinner, later?”  
Harry nodded and tried to smile. “Yeah. Sure. Dinner.”

Before Liam closed the door, Harry called out, “Hey, Li!”

Liam stuck his head back in, a curious look on his face.

 “Thanks. I,” Harry took a deep breath, “I needed to hear that.”

 “Cheers, Harry. See you later.”

When Liam left, Harry finished his breakfast, turned off the telly, took a shower and got dressed. Liam was right. He needed to get off his arse. He’d do the job tomorrow with Liam.  He’d start working again. People still knew his name. Liam’s connections at the magazine would be helpful. He just needed to refresh his portfolio and he’d be good as gold.

And then, maybe he’d go out more. Maybe he’d do the pubs and clubs scene. Pull himself a fit lad. Snog him a little. Maybe take him home.

Just to get Nick out of his system.

Except maybe the truth really was that Harry wanted something more than that, more than a one-night stand and the awkward morning after.

To be honest, Harry wanted something different. Something beautiful. Something true. 

He wanted a big love. A love that would sweep him off his feet.

It was silly and romantic. Ludicrous, really. Harry was far too old to be thinking that it was possible.

As he got ready to leave his flat, Harry hesitated for a moment then hefted the camera bag onto his shoulder. Harry figured there was no harm in having his camera on hand. Liam was right. He needed to warm up. If he had a job tomorrow, he might as well practice. Liam would be proud of him. He had to admit even just having the camera with him gave him a little thrill and that was a pleasant surprise. He’d forgotten what being excited about something, _something that was his own_ , felt like. It _was_ nice. As he walked, he tilted his head towards the sky, enjoying the late morning sun and the cool breeze on his face. As he approached the corner, he noticed a small crowd gathered around a wall, a number of people with their phone cameras out, snapping photos. He approached, unaware that his hand had already drifted to the flap of his camera bag.

Dream.

That was what it said. Stencilled on the wall in bold, blue letters, with a boy walking over the word.

It seemed like a timely reminder. Maybe even a little bit like fate. So Harry lifted the flap to his camera bag, took out his camera, and took a photograph.

Or ten.

And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like maybe it was safe to hope for good things. Maybe even safe to dream.

\---

Louis Tomlinson was on his very last nerve.

Why the hell had he agreed to an interview? These things never went well. He hoped the writer wouldn’t make him look like a stuck-up art dealer, someone who chased commissions and put beautiful things in the houses of rich people who didn’t really care about the art and just wanted to one-up their neighbours.

Because that wasn’t Louis at all. Yes, he loved beautiful things. But he also cared about his artists. People didn’t always understand what you wanted to say. Critics could be cruel. It was difficult to put your heart out there, it was a big risk.

Louis knew.

If he were being perfectly honest though, Louis was flattered that The Anchor was getting featured. He was happy that his artists would get the attention they deserved.

Like Zayn Malik, his friend from art school days and one of the artists that Louis featured in the gallery and who had grown to have quite a following. Zayn had dropped by to give him a rather large graffiti-inspired piece.  When Zayn unveiled it to him, Louis mouth had gone dry.

Because Zayn didn’t know. Right? He _couldn’t_ know.

Louis’ silence made Zayn frown. He squinted at the canvas.

“That bad?”

“What?” Louis shook himself. “No! Don’t be silly, Malik. It’s amazing. I love it. So bold.” 

Zayn grinned. “I was feeling…a little New York.”

“Are you sure you want to give it to me?” Louis said, already thinking about where the piece would go in the gallery. “Because, it’s going to look sick in the centre of the gallery.”

“Of course I want to give it to you.”

Louis gazed at the piece. “Will make sure a photograph of this gets into the magazine feature…” he murmured.

“Oh yeah, that’s today isn’t it?” Zayn said, as he packed up his things.

“Some bloke named Liam from the magazine is going to come over and interview. He sent me a message about bringing a photographer as well, which,” Louis shrugged, “makes sense.”

“Sick.”

They walked to the front office together. Zayn elbowed Louis. “Busy tonight? Why don’t you come out for a pint or summat?”

Louis made a face. “Maybe another time. I don’t know how long the interview is going to take and then I have to fix up things for a showing tomorrow.”

Zayn shook his head. “You need to get out more. You work too hard.”

Louis huffed. “Are you seriously lecturing me, here?”

Zayn gave him what Louis called his Bambi-Eye stare, all dark eyes and a fan of lashes. “I just think, you know, you should put yourself out there.”

“Well that’s rich considering that I’m hearing this from someone who is also very much unattached,” Louis retorted.

Zayn raised a finger to stop him. “Ah, but it’s not because I’m not trying, see. You, on the other hand, are almost aggressively single.”

Louis huffed. Relationships were a lot of work and there just wasn’t enough time in the day was there? Between the gallery all day and his night-time hobby, when exactly was one supposed to find time to maintain a healthy relationship?

Besides. It wasn’t as if he were lonely.

Not really.

Sure, there were times that it would be nice to sit and watch telly with someone warm and comfortable. Or to have someone to talk with over a cuppa or a pint.

Maybe even have someone share your bed.

It would be nice.

But it wasn’t necessary.

“Aha. I’ve stunned you into silence with the power of my truth,” Zayn said with a chuckle.

“Shut it, Malik. No one asked you,” Louis barked, but there was no heat behind his words. Louis knew Zayn cared. It’s just sometimes he wished he wouldn’t care quite so much. Louis was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And if that meant putting up a tough-as-nails facade, well whose business was that? Louis checked his watch and clucked his tongue. “Also, get out of my gallery. I’ve spent far too much time chatting with you and not enough time worrying about work.”

“You worry too much,” Zayn said as he shrugged his jacket on. He took one last look around the gallery and bit his lip. “You sure about the piece, Lou?”

“I think it’s wonderful. Honest.”

“Different, eh?”

“Different is good.”

Zayn grinned. “I’ll take your word for it, since you’re the gallery owner and art dealer, mate.”

“I’ll make sure it goes to someone who deserves it.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Someone who will appreciate it, okay?”

Louis crossed his heart and held his hand up as if he were taking an oath.

Zayn opened the door and Louis reached out to tug on his sleeve. “Hey. Thank you. You know. For caring, I guess. Or something.”

Zayn nodded at him, a small smile on his lips. “Or something. And hey, Lou, be nice to the interviewer? At least try. You can be a nice person when you want to be.” 

Louis rolled his eyes.

So he wasn’t good at meeting new people. So he wasn’t warm. At least not to people he barely knew. Who could blame him really?

But, Zayn was right. This story was important. Not only for him and the gallery, but the artists he worked with. So. He would try.

Louis shut and locked the door behind Zayn, then walked over to his desk and sat down. He took out his phone and launched the Instagram app. He scrolled through his own feed, liked Zayn’s most recent photo (of his dog) and photos of his sisters. He  usually browsed art accounts to see what artists were working on. Louis followed street art accounts too, and he liked checking out what had gotten picked up in different cities.  

The tag for A.M.—Louis’s tag—was on fire.  Louis was pleased. A number of locals had found the piece he had put up, taken photos and shared it. Clearly the message had hit home for many.

But, one post in particular stood out.

This person had taken a photo of the art, in black and white. Unlike the other posts, that had shown the work in colour, the uploader had edited it so the word, originally in sky blue, came out almost white.

Louis sniffed. It hadn’t been what he’d intended when he painted it. If he’d meant it to be in black and white, he’d have done it in black and white. The blue was there for a reason.

  
But, the photograph was lovely and, Louis had to admit, the edit was pleasing to the eye.

The caption also gave him pause. Only one word: Go.

If his art lit a fire under someone’s arse, then Louis considered his work done. He scrolled through the other photos on the account and frowned. The photo of Louis’ art was the first post in what seemed like months. Most of the photos were in black and white, Louis noticed, and he shook his head. Black and white was lovely, but sometimes, things had to be done in colour. That’s what Louis thought anyway. His thumb hovered over the follow button for a moment, before he rolled his eyes, and tapped on it.

lwt28 was now following a photographer named seh_lens.

Louis shrugged and put away his phone. He looked around the gallery, thought about the artists he worked with and their hope, their courage to dream, and then do, and felt very proud.

It was good. It was really good.

And just for a moment, Louis allowed himself to think about how nice it would be to go home and tell someone that. About how nice it would be to have someone to tell. 

Louis rolled his eyes.  Zayn Malik was putting thoughts in his head.

Louis _was_ romantic. He just wasn’t showy about it, that’s all.

Louis’ gaze fell on Zayn’s piece and a slow smile spread on his face.

Or maybe he was. After a fashion. On his own terms. It wasn’t like Louis was against love. On the contrary. He was all for it.

He felt his palms begin to itch.

Somewhere out there was a city wall with Louis’ name on it.

Waiting for a message only Louis could give.

The doorbell buzzed and shook Louis from his thoughts. Two men were at the door and Louis took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” he murmured as he walked to the door. 

A man stepped into the gallery and extended his hand to Louis. “Hi! I’m Liam Payne, thanks for agreeing to the interview.”

Louis took his hand and squeezed it briefly. “Sure.  Wait,” Louis turned his head to the window, “what about your friend?”

“Oh,” Liam said, “that’s Harry, the photographer I mentioned who would join me? He’s proper impressed with your place. Said he wanted to take some shots of the exterior.”

Louis shrugged. “Okay.”

Liam cleared his throat, dug a notebook out of his bag, and stepped towards where Louis had seated himself behind his desk.

“So, maybe you could start by telling me a little bit about yourself? When did you decide that you wanted to own a gallery, be an art dealer?”

Louis took a deep breath and squinted his eyes in thought. “I guess pretty early. I loved going to museums when I was a kid. I guess, since I couldn’t own a museum of my own, this seemed pretty close.”

Liam was silent for a moment, waiting for more. When Louis when didn’t speak, he said, “I see. So apart from the gallery, you’re also an art dealer?” 

“Yes.”

“Umm,” a nervous tone crept into Liam’s voice, “okay. Maybe you could tell us a little bit about what that’s like. What exactly do you do?” 

“Well, I work with artists. They give me their pieces and I sell to interested buyers. Collectors, you know.”

Liam grinned. “So you’re kind of like a matchmaker? Between artists and collectors.”

“Well. Actually, yeah. Kind of.” Louis’ face relaxed slightly, and he offered Liam a small smile.

“So, what works best? When you’re making a match?”

“It’s different every time, I guess. Sometimes, it’s easy. People know what they want and all I have to do is give them paintings that meet their qualifications.” Louis stopped again.

Liam nodded but Louis stopped speaking again. Liam made an encouraging noise and tried again. “And the other times? What happens the other times, when people don’t know what they want?”

“When people don’t know what they want…well, that’s a little more of a challenge.” Louis looked off into the distance as he spoke. ”That’s when you have to try a little harder. To understand the buyer and what they want. You have to…woo them. Sometimes you get it and it really helps a collector figure out what they like and shapes the rest of their collection. Other times, well, other times, you don’t. And you keep trying. You need to learn to ask the right questions, sort of put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Both the artist and the collector I mean. Because, as an art dealer, I also want to help artists find their market too… ” Louis took a deep breath, a slightly surprised look on his face that he’d said so much.

Liam smiled broadly and looked around the gallery. “I’ll be honest, mate. I pass by this place a lot. Always been curious, but never stepped inside. Always too intimidated. Some of the stuff hanging on the walls I’m sure costs more than all my worldly belongings put together.”

Louis frowned. “Aww, mate. That makes me sad. I mean, yeah. I know how you feel, I guess….” He shook his head. “People have these misconceptions about art? Like, it’s only for rich people? Or like, you have to have gone to art school to get it?” Louis made air quotes around ‘get it’ and rolled his eyes.

Liam sat back, nodding and smiling. “Yeah, yeah…exactly.”

Louis pulled out a bunch of fliers from a drawer.

“That’s why I started these free sessions,” Louis said, handing them over to Liam, who scanned them with interest. “All different kinds. Drawing lessons, watercolours. Art appreciation lectures. Sometimes, I even get the artists to help out.”

While Louis was speaking, another man had entered the gallery and stood in the corner, listening. “Some of them are happy to do it. Others…” Louis’ voice trailed off.

“Are stuck-up twats?” the man chipped in, a wry smile on his face.

Louis looked towards the new voice.

As an artist and an art dealer, Louis was used to seeing beautiful things. But for the most part, they were behind glass, or on pedestals, or framed and hung on walls. Very rarely were they stood a few feet away, looking warm and alive and real.

Liam’s head whipped around and he grinned at his friend. “Oh, Harry…Louis Tomlinson, this is Harry Styles, the photographer I told you about.”

Louis fixed his fringe and nodded at Harry. “Harry. Cheers.” He tried to swallow but found his mouth was dry. Louis tried for a smile instead. “The thing about stuck-up twats? Well, yeah. Something like that.” Louis made a face. “They’re the type that gives art a bad name, if you ask me.”

Liam sat back. “So do you think that’s something you’re trying to do? Reclaim art? Give it back to the people?”

  
Louis shook his head. “Well, not quite. Although, I’ll admit, that sounds pretty bad-ass.” He looked thoughtful suddenly. It sounded right up Zayn’s alley. “For me, it’s more like…” Louis struggled with the words. He wished for a moment that he could pull up a picture of one of his pieces, something he did that had people talking, something that he felt had reached people. That’s what art could do. Touch people. Art belonged to everyone, not just to the people who could afford it. 

But Louis couldn’t do that.

So he tried again.

“People are afraid of art because they have this idea that it isn’t for everyone. That it’s behind lock and key in museums, or on the walls of only the rich and famous. These sessions,” Louis gestured to the flyer in Liam’s hands, “are a way to introduce people to art as something else. Something that’s for them. Maybe even something they can do themselves.”

Louis stopped speaking, suddenly aware how much he had given away. He wasn’t used to talking this much, especially not to strangers. But they had gotten him on a topic that was close to his heart. And there was a green-eyed man with curls standing in the corner of his gallery and Louis was overwhelmed by the desire to make himself understood.

Liam smiled broadly. “Amazing. That sounds amazing. I just might go to one of these sessions myself.”

“Why not?” Louis asked. “I love it when people attend these things and surprise themselves by what they can do. We have a little corner of the gallery to feature some of the stuff our workshop students do. I can show you if you like.” Louis got up and chanced a smile at Harry.  “You can take photographs too. If you like.”

Harry nodded and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Lead the way.”

  
Louis took a deep breath and then turned towards the main gallery. Upon entering the space, Louis spread his arms. “This is where we put up the current exhibits, the work of featured artists.” Harry stepped closer to some of the pieces on the walls and Louis watched with interest. Harry lifted the camera to his eyes, then looked over his shoulder towards Louis. 

“Is this okay?”

Louis nodded. “Yes, of course. You have no idea how excited the artists will be to see their work in a magazine.”

Harry smiled. “I better do them justice then.”

Louis watched as Harry took photographs. It was always interesting to see another artist at work. It also did not hurt that Harry was very easy to watch. Harry was appreciative, he clearly enjoyed looking at the paintings, but there was also a respect in his approach, like he knew these were pieces that people had slaved over and that meant a lot to them.

Louis liked that.

“So, how do you choose the art you buy?” Liam asked as he peered at a painting on the wall.

Louis considered the question carefully. “That’s a good question. I go to a lot of the art schools, visit the exhibits of students. Some of the artists that are in tonight’s show, for example, are people I’ve kept in contact with since I saw their first work in student shows. Some of the artists come to me. And there are some I come across when a buyer points them out to me. I get lucky.”

“Is there anything in particular you look for in the work? What catches your eye?”

“You know how they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder? I agree about that. Different people will have different ideas about what is beautiful. I tend to gravitate to artists who make statements, I guess? I don’t mean political – although, that could be the case. I think good art is a conversation between the artist and the viewer. I want to have that conversation.”

Liam was furiously scribbling in his notebook, and Harry took a moment to check the photos he had taken. He didn’t notice when Louis stepped closer to him to look over his shoulder.

"That's a lovely shot, that," Louis murmured. Harry looked up to see Louis with his hand held out for the camera. "May I?"

Harry grinned and handed the camera over. When Louis came to the photos of the gallery, the ones Harry had taken from the street, he gave a low whistle and looked up at Harry.

"You do this just in your spare time?"

"Yeah. I just picked my camera up again yesterday, actually," Harry said.

"It's too bad, mate. These are," Louis looked back down at the camera and shook his head. "This is what the gallery looks like to me. When I think about the gallery…this is what it looks to me." 

"Beautiful?"

Harry's voice had cracked a little and Louis looked up at him again and nodded.  "Yeah. It looks beautiful to me. And I guess it's because it’s mine? But…you. You just…captured it, like. So maybe you see it too."

Louis fell silent. He looked at the pictures and Harry looked at Louis. Louis silently handed him the camera. When Harry took it from him, their fingers accidentally brushed against each other.  Louis flinched and turned away.

"Haz, did you get the pictures?" Liam's voice broke the silence.

"Oh, yeah, yeah I did," Harry said with a smile, "Louis was just giving them the once over."

“Great,” Liam said. “I’m just going to get some final details from him. Maybe there are upcoming events he wants to feature.”

Louis sat behind his desk and gave Liam information on the featured artists and tried not to be distracted by Harry standing in the foyer. He stood up to shake Liam’s hand and heard the quiet, but unmistakable click of the camera. Louis turned towards the sound, only to find Harry’s eyes on him. Louis exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Louis really had to learn to not let Zayn into his head. He didn't need any pressure to get involved with anyone. Least of all with photographers who came to take pictures for magazine articles.  

“Thank you again, for accommodating the interview. I’m glad I finally got to see the inside of this place!” Liam shook Louis’ hand. “I’ll run the final piece by you before the story finally sees print.”

Harry reached out to shake Louis’ hand as well. Louis glanced briefly down at their hand, noted the rings on Harry’s fingers, then looked up.

“Thank you. I love all the work here. You won’t mind if I drop in again? I think there are other pieces that I’d like to get shots of.”

Louis nodded. “Sure. Of course. Any time.”

When Liam and Harry left, Louis glanced at his watch. It was later than he thought. He considered Zayn’s invitation to come out for a drink. The “Dream“ piece had just gone up, so he hadn’t really been planning to go out tonight. But, he was tired. And he had research to do, anyway. So maybe Zayn was right.  He did work too hard.

As he made his way home, Louis reflected on the day. It had been a long, but pleasant. The interview had gone better than he expected. Liam was one of those genuinely nice people who made it easy to talk. In fact, Louis had surprised himself with how open he had been about the gallery, how he felt about it, how he felt about his artists.

And then there was Harry.

It had been a long time since somebody had caught Louis’ attention in that way. Most of the time, he was too caught up in work, or in planning out his designs to let himself be distracted by a pair of pretty eyes and a good face.

Harry really did have extraordinarily pretty eyes.

Who was he kidding anyway? Harry had a great face. His body was long-limbed and slightly awkward, but Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t wonder for a moment what Harry would feel like curled into his side, or stretched out beneath him, hot in his too-small bed.

Louis shook his head. Those thoughts were inconvenient and unproductive. Also, Louis wasn’t exactly keen about wanking to thoughts of a perfect stranger.

After a dinner of takeaway curry eaten over the kitchen sink and a hot shower, Louis got into bed. He flipped his pillow, and pressed his cheek into the cool side. He reached for his phone and opened the Instagram app and scrolled through his feed. His tag came up quite a few times, which made him very happy. His sisters had posted more selfies than he thought was necessary and Louis made a mental note to give them a talking to.  

Another black and white photo from seh_lens.

_Hipster._ Maybe he was wrong about following him, Louis thought.

Louis’ first instinct was to scoff and scroll past it. Still, upon closer inspection, it was a good photograph. Good composition, nice light, and…hey, art—or at least the inspiration for art was everywhere. On the street, in the ordinary, in the mundane, in the stuff of everyday life.

That’s what Louis believed. And he guessed seh_lens believed it too. Whoever he was.

And that thought warmed Louis’ heart. 

He peered at the photograph more closely. This seh_lens needed to take himself a little less seriously. Art didn’t have to be so heavy. It was actually possible to have a sense of humour about it. Louis closed the app on his phone, set his alarm, and reached out to place the phone on his night table.

Maybe he could send a message to this seh_lens. Well. Not really. It would be on a city wall, so everybody would see it. But maybe someone in particular would see it too.

And maybe it would make them smile.

The restless feeling in Louis’ bones seeped away and closed his eyes, designs floating in his head and lulling him to sleep.

\----

Despite the hiatus he imposed on himself, Harry found, to his relief and surprise, that it was easy to fall back into photography. He remembered everything he loved about it and wondered why he had ever let his heartbreak get in the way of something that made him feel so happy, so alive.

The interview at The Anchor had been the perfect way to get his feet wet again. Liam’s presence was reassuring, the gallery and the art in it was beautiful, and Louis Tomlinson was...intriguing. Louis was guarded, wary. Even Liam had mentioned it when they had discussed the interview afterwards.

“I was nervous for a bit. One syllable answers, chopped up sentences,” Liam had said, “I was already imagining what kind of article I could possibly write. But, he warmed up, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded. “He’s not your typical art dealer. Didn’t seem to me like he was much of a salesman at all.” Harry paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “He spoke more like an advocate? For the artists?”

Liam considered that. “Advocate. I like it. That’s a great way to profile him. But, hey, what about you? How did it feel to be behind the lens again?”

“It was great. Really great. Even better than I remember. I’m...” Harry allowed himself to feel that rush of excitement and anticipation and he smiled. “I’m excited.”

That was the truth. But it was only part of it.

Maybe it was just the rush of rediscovering photography, but he couldn’t lie about the fact that the subject at The Anchor might also have had something to do with it. 

When Harry had mentioned possibly dropping by the gallery for a second look, he hadn’t known that it would be quite so soon.  Yet a few days after the interview, Harry found himself strolling the city streets with his camera in tow, looking for interesting scenes, good light, stories that a photograph could capture.  He hadn’t even realised that he was in The Anchor’s neighbourhood, until he came upon Louis standing on the curb in front of the gallery, a cigarette between his fingers.

“Louis.”

Louis startled, then relaxed when he recognised Harry. “Harry Styles, photographer. Fancy meeting you on the street.” He took a slow drag on his cigarette and exhaled a long breath of smoke. His eyes flicked towards Harry, apologetic. “’S a dirty habit I know. Picked it up in art school and could never quite kick it.” He put the cigarette out and threw the butt in the bin. “So what brings you to my humble establishment?” Louis asked with a grin.

“Don’t know, I was just walking around and found myself here.” Harry shrugged. “Are you on a break?” Harry realised he didn’t want to just walk past Louis Tomlinson and his gallery with nothing more than a friendly greeting; he wanted more. He took a breath and barrelled ahead, “Would you like to get a cuppa or something?”

Louis glanced over his shoulder at the gallery, then let his eyes meet Harry’s. “Could do. Just let me,” he held a finger up and stepped quickly to the gallery door.

Louis was dressed simply in a jumper and a pair of skinny jeans. Not so tight that they were vulgar, but tight enough to cling. To all the right places.

Not that Harry was paying attention.

Much.

Louis flipped the sign in the door over so that it read “closed.” He shut the door, fumbled in his pocket for keys and locked it, then turned around and smiled at Harry. 

“One of the perks of being owner and sole proprietor is you can take breaks whenever you want. So, shall we? There’s a nice place just around the corner from here.”

Harry chuckled. “Lead the way then.”

They walked side by side in companionable silence. After a few minutes, they started speaking at the same time.

“Any new piece — ”

“Did you take any good — ”

Their laughter rang out as they walked.

“Please, you first,” Harry said.

“Camera,” Louis said, nodding at Harry’s bag. “Take any good photos this morning?”

Harry made a face. “Not really. Well, I have a couple of shots that I think are okay, but, nothing amazing. What about you? What have you been busy with?”  

“A friend came in with something that I think is really great."

“An art school friend?”

Louis nodded, then motioned Harry towards the door of a little cafe. “This is the place. Yeah an art school friend.”

They placed their orders and settled into a corner table.

“Is it easier or more difficult to work with friends?” Harry asked.

Louis grinned. “Probably more difficult. You always think it should be easier to tell a mate that their work is shit, but when it comes down to it, you really can’t come out and say that can you? That’s...it’s like a piece of them, innit?”

“Yeah, that must be tough.”

Louis shook his head. “Difficult being an artist.”

“Did you ever try? I mean, before you put up the gallery?”

Louis took so long to answer, Harry feared he’d overstepped. He began to take back the question, but Louis had started speaking.

“I did. Sold a couple of pieces too and had a few exhibits. But…” Louis looked out the window as he spoke, “it wasn’t for me I guess.” He turned back to Harry and the expression in his eyes was cautious and guarded, with none of the easy openness they had shared just moments before. 

Louis cleared his throat and smiled. “So, I do this instead. It’s a fair trade, I think.”

Harry nodded. “Do you miss it though?”

Louis paused again, then said, very carefully, “No. I don’t.” He tilted his chin at Harry. “What about you and photography? You mentioned you were just getting back to it?”

Harry hadn’t planned to tell Louis all about why he stopped taking photographs, but there was something about him that made Harry honest. Maybe it was because he felt Louis was actually listening.  
  
“I’ve talked your ear off, I’m so sorry,” Harry said when he was finished speaking.

“No worries. I like to listen,” Louis said.

Harry bit his lip. “Next time, it will be my turn to listen.” _Next time._ Harry wondered if Louis heard the hope in his voice.

Louis gave him a small smile. “Am not much of a talker really. But, maybe. Next time.”

The walk back to the gallery was easy, comfortable and Harry felt himself not wanting it to end. At the gallery door, Louis shook his fringe out of his eyes and grinned at Harry. “Thanks for the break. I didn’t know I needed it.”

“Any time. Maybe,” Harry shifted his feet nervously, “maybe next time, we could do dinner.”

The sudden stillness on Louis face made Harry’s stomach clench.

“Dinner,” Louis repeated, a distracted tone in his voice. “Yeah. Maybe. Anyway, thanks again, Harry.”

Louis let himself in, flipped the sign in the door, and with a last wave at Harry through the glass, was gone.

It hadn’t been a date. Not really.

So, one morning, while Harry was at working on photograph edits for his portfolio and Liam called with another request about The Anchor, Harry jumped at the opportunity to see Louis again.

“Harry! Mate, I need a favour,” Liam’s voice was tinny over the phone and Harry pressed it closer to his ear in the vain hope that he would hear better.

“My editor, he loved the story and he adores the photos, they’re brilliant, Harry, but he wants a little more. I checked the flier Louis gave me,” Harry heard the rustle of papers over the line. “…and there’s one of the sessions he was talking about, umm, this afternoon. Could you go and take some photos? You know, people taking the lessons, enjoying themselves, making art…”

“I get it,” Harry said, “I’m game.  What time do I need to be there?”

“Louis said the session will start at two this afternoon. I can send him a message and tell him you’ll be around. Once I’m off work, I’ll make my way over there. Maybe we can all go out for a drink or summat.”

Once Harry ended the call, he began to get ready. He decided to go walk about, maybe take some photos. He still needed to beef up his portfolio a little more before he went around to pitch for jobs. After all, he couldn’t very well rely on odd jobs from Liam’s magazine forever.

Maybe this time, he could get Louis to open up a little. Harry had read some of what Liam had written for the profile and it captured Louis perfectly. At least the little Harry knew of him. An art gallery owner who believed art wasn’t just for wealthy collectors? It definitely wasn’t the standard description of anybody in the art industry. To a certain extent, most artists were pretty exclusive about their art. Of course, they wanted to sell their work, but they could also be picky about their audience. Harry rolled his eyes remembering Nick and his obsession about having the right readers.

“Wouldn’t you want everyone to read your book, though?” Harry had asked once, as they waited for Nick’s book signing.

“Haz, audiences are not created equal,” Nick said, peeking from behind the curtain at the crowd that had assembled for the event.  He made an irritated noise. “I really need to tell my agent to make sure to send my book to the right influencers. This crowd…” Nick shook his head.

At the time that it happened, Harry had admired Nick for it and believed that he was right. Not everyone would get their work, so they needed to make sure they got the right audiences.

Harry remembered this now and smiled to himself as he walked. It turned out a little time gave you a lot of perspective. He could admit now that while he thought Nick was a good writer (there was very little doubt about that), he did talk some shit sometimes.

As Harry walked, he noticed a little crowd on the street. They were pointing at something and laughing. Curious, he stepped closer. The smile on his face grew as he saw what the crowd was looking at.

Street artists were awesome. They just found a way to connect to people, make them laugh. They didn’t worry about audiences. The world was their audience. And yeah, maybe people wouldn’t get it. But they went and did it anyway. They didn’t worry about critics or fans. They put things out, painted on walls and gave people something to look at, something to laugh about, something to enjoy.Harry took a few photographs, checked the time and realized he needed to move if he were to make it to The Anchor in good time. He was excited and even a little nervous at the prospect of seeing Louis again. Which was unusual, but not unpleasant.

It was, in fact, very pleasant indeed.

When he stepped through the doors of the gallery, Louis was standing in the centre of a crowd of people, looking intense, and in his element, and like a work of art himself.

_Click. Click. Click._

Some people were meant to be photographed and Louis Tomlinson was one of them. Harry could have taken even more photographs of him, but Louis looked up suddenly and Harry lowered his camera to greet him. A smile flashed briefly on Louis’ face and he excused himself from the crowd and made his way to Harry.

“Harry, mate. Liam mentioned that you would come over; take photos of the public session.” Louis nodded. “Glad you could make it.”

“Sure. You’ve got a great turnout.”  
  
Louis raised an eyebrow. “’Course. Today is a Zayn day.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Zayn day?”

“Zayn Malik? He’s the artist who’s handling this session. He’s a great artist and because we went to art school together, I can force him to do these things free of charge.” Louis grinned. “Let me introduce you. This way,”

Louis led the way to the inner office where Zayn was gathering a crate of materials.  
  
“Zayn, this is Harry Styles, the photographer I mentioned to you. The writer who interviewed me suggested that they get more photos of the public sessions.”

Harry extended his hand to Zayn who smiled, tongue behind his teeth, and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, mate. Glad to meet you but…hands full!”

“No worries. So what are you doing today? What are you teaching?”

“Just basic drawing for today. But if they’re quick studies, then maybe we’ll get into some paints too,” Zayn said. “Come on outside, I’m going to go get set up.”

“If you’re ready to start, I’ll get everybody ready,” Louis said.

“Go ‘head. ’M ready.”

Harry trailed after them and found a corner spot where he wouldn’t be underfoot, camera at the ready.

It was amazing. Kids, teenagers, adults, all of them sat at their tables, faces rapt as they watched Zayn demonstrate the basics of line drawing on a large easel. Harry had to admit, if he had an art teacher who looked like Zayn, he would pay attention too. He moved quickly around the room, taking photographs of the kids who were just happy to scrawl on fresh sheets of paper, the teenage girls who spent most of their time gazing at Zayn and sighing, and the adults…the adults were Harry’s favourites.

There were the women in tracksuit bottoms, who looked like they were squeezing in some much needed “me time” between having to pick up their kids from school or football practice and picking up their groceries. Then there were the men, some who looked like they would be more comfortable in a boardroom and others who just seemed like the regular lads you’d see at a pub or at a football match. Most of them had a glow about them, absorbed in the tasks that Zayn set for them, appearing proud of their efforts, excited that they were learning something new.

Harry lowered his camera and observed Zayn guide a student in a particular exercise.

“It’s great, isn’t it,” a soft voice murmured at Harry’s shoulder. “Zayn is really good at this.”

Harry nodded. “He is. But, the idea for the sessions is…it’s really brilliant. I mean. Look at all these people.” Harry looked at Louis’ gaze around the room, a look of pride and satisfaction on his face.

Louis then turned his blue-eyed gaze on Harry. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s something, innit?”

Harry felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, so he just nodded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah. It’s something. Most people I know…” Harry shrugged. “I mean, they act like it’s some secret society? Members only.”

“Yeah. I guess. To be honest though,” Louis lowered his voice and Harry leaned in closer to hear him, “most of the people in this room aren’t going to be famous artists. And I think they know it, too. Well, maybe not the kids,” Louis laughed and gestured to a little boy who was dancing around with his artwork and crowing with pride. “But the others, I think they know. But, every time they step into this gallery, they have a chance to learn something new. Not just about the art. About themselves, I guess? Does that make sense?” Louis turned back to Harry.

Harry’s breath caught. “Yeah. It makes a lot of sense.” Harry felt his cheeks burn under the weight of Louis’ gaze and he wondered if Louis noticed.

“Haz!”

Liam made his way to Harry and Louis, his face beaming. “Louis, mate, what a turnout! Harry, how are you for the photos?”

Harry raised his camera and smiled. “Got them. Lots of good stuff.”

“Great!” Liam rubbed his hands together and gazed around the room. “This is so…”

“Liam?” Louis nudged him. “You okay?”

“Umm. Yeah. Yeah. I’m great. Just…like…overwhelmed!”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Yeah. I guess. The kids can be a handful.”

Harry followed Liam’s gaze to Zayn who was standing at the front of the room.

“Hey Li, do you know the artist leading the session? His name’s Zayn Malik. Louis’ friend from art school,” Harry said, his tone innocent.

Liam turned to Harry, his cheeks flaming. “Um. Yeah. I’m familiar with his work actually. He,” Liam turned back to Zayn, “does a lot of comic book work…”

Louis looked surprised. “Yeah. You’re right, mate. That’s his early stuff. How he got his foot in the door. You a fan?”

Liam looked at Louis a hopeless expression on his face. “I own all his stuff.”

A high, sharp laugh burst out of Louis and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to clamp down on it. “Oh, Liam. This is the best thing I’ve heard in weeks,” Louis whispered, his shoulders shaking in mirth.

Liam pressed his hands to his flaming cheeks. “Had I known, I would have brought my stuff to get autographed.”

Louis elbowed him in the side. “I’ll hook you up. Least I can do. Let me go close the session, and then,” he glanced quickly at Harry, “maybe we could all go for a bite?”

\----

Dinner was a casual affair — a corner table in a pub not far from The Anchor. Louis was full of bangers and mash and was nursing his third pint. He was warm and comfortable and was happy to just sit back and take the piss out of Zayn, who had spent most of the evening making heart eyes at Liam Payne.

“I should put a sign out on The Anchor: art dealer and matchmaker!” Louis said with a sip of his drink.  

“You should do an art session for singles,” Harry said, lifting his pint to Louis.

“Oi, oi! That’s an idea!” Louis cheered.

“Aww, get off it, Tommo, you wanker,” Zayn said, but his expression was fond. “Besides, we haven’t even had our first proper date yet,” he said, smiling at Liam.

Liam blushed furiously. “I don’t even have your number…”

Louis groaned. “That’s it, phones out.” Liam and Zayn took their phones out and handed them to each other. “Put your numbers in, come on, come on then,” Louis commanded. 

After they returned their phones to each other, they resumed their conversation, quiet and intense. Louis shook his head. Comic book geeks. They were all the same.

“Hey. Lou.” Harry’s voice was slow and warm.

Louis looked up at him and smiled. “Lou?”  

“Yes. Lou. That’s you.”

“Ok.”  Louis put his phone away. “Harry.”

Harry grinned. “No, no, don’t put your phone away. What about us? I don’t have your number.” Harry held out his hand for Louis’ phone.

Louis hesitated slightly. He had photos of his work on his phone, but...he didn’t think Harry would go snooping anyway… Louis started slightly when he felt a foot kick him, not too gently under the table. Despite the fact that Zayn’s attention seemed fully fixed on Liam, Louis was sure of the message he intended to deliver.   He took a breath and handed over his phone.

The smile on Harry’s face was worth the risk, Louis thought.

“And here’s mine,” Harry said, handing over his phone to Louis.

Louis tapped out his number, in disbelief that he was actually doing this. He had known Harry all of three days? But, maybe this was how things were done. Maybe this was what Zayn was talking about when he said Louis needed to get out there, meet people. He wasn’t sure about the whole thing, but the idea that Harry wanted his number was quite a nice one, really.

Louis was used to overthinking things. Maybe this was something he didn’t have to think too much about. Harry was good company, an excellent photographer, and yes, fine, he was lovely.

So, maybe that was enough.

For now.

Harry returned Louis’ phone to him. “There. It’s fixed. You have my number and I have yours.”

Louis nodded. Then he checked the time on his watch and made a face. “I should get going. I left some stuff at the gallery that I need before I head home.”

Zayn frowned when Louis stood. “Are you sure? It’s late. You still planning on working when you get home?”

“Louis Tomlinson, never not working,” Louis quipped. “But please, don’t end things on my account. The night is young and so are you and all that.”

Harry had stood up as well. “Maybe I should go too. I have appointments tomorrow and stuff. But, Louis’ right. You should stay. Both of you.” 

Liam’s worried expression gave way to a smile. “Well, you can go together! The Anchor is on the way to our flat, isn’t it Harry?”

“Only if Louis doesn’t mind the company.”

“Company is always welcome.”

The incredulous expression on Zayn’s face made Louis want to laugh out loud. Louis Tomlinson, King of the Loners and a failure at small talk, actually welcoming company on his walk home? Louis had to admit that it sounded crazy even to him. But, there was a first time for everything, and if Harry wanted to walk him to the gallery, who was he to say no?

The night was cool as they walked. The first few minutes were silent, but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable and Louis was pleased that Harry didn’t seem to feel any pressure to fill the silence with silly banter.  

“I love being in the gallery at night,” Louis said suddenly. “I mean, I know I own the place, but the art hanging on the walls isn’t mine. Sometimes, there are pieces I really hate to see go,” he confessed. “So I like to spend as much time as I can with them. I find it inspiring.”

Louis could hardly believe he was volunteering this information. But there was something about the way Harry looked at him that made him trust his words.

“I can imagine,” Harry murmured, “how inspiring it can be to be surrounded by so many beautiful things. Do you ever paint? Or draw? You said you went to art school.

Louis took a while to answer, wondering how much he could say without giving too much of himself away . “I did. I still do. But,” Louis paused, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just hard for me to put things out there. Put my name on it. People…they can be…difficult to please."

It wasn’t a lie, Louis told himself. Art school had been tough. You could do your hardest, you could do your absolute best, and it wouldn’t be enough. You could put your heart and soul on a piece of canvas and it would be met by a blank stare from a professor who just didn’t like your style. So you adjusted. You gave your teachers what they wanted and felt a little bit of yourself die. Louis had been lucky. He’d found a good middle ground, he’d had supportive teachers, and the benefit of excellent technique and an eye for detail. He’d made it through with his share of battle scars, but for the most part, stronger and better.

But he soon decided he didn’t want his art on a wall, critiqued by experts, and appraised by insurers. He wanted his art where people could see it, he wanted people to talk about it, take photos, he wanted to send messages to people.

His double life—Louis Tomlinson, art gallery owner by day and A.M., renegade street artist by night—suited him just fine.  He had the best of both worlds.

But, how exactly was he going to explain that to Harry?

But Harry was nodding, like he understood. So Louis held his tongue. He’d probably already said too much.

They stopped in front of The Anchor and Louis put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head toward the gallery door. “Well, this is me.”

“This is you.” Harry stood in front of him, brown curls coming loose from his head scarf, green eyes bright, cheeks ruddy.

Louis threw caution to the wind and reached up to tuck a lock of Harry’s hair behind his ear. He’d meant to remove his hand quickly, but when Harry leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, Louis let his fingers brush against Harry’s cheek for a little longer.

“Pretty,” Louis murmured. "So pretty like this."

Harry blinked his eyes open. “Like what?”

Louis shrugged. “Soft. You’re all lit up and your cheeks are pink, and…” Louis shook his head. “I just think you look lovely.”

Harry reached out, linked their fingers together, and swung their hands, back and forth a little. “I think you’re lovely too, Lou.”

Louis took a deep breath, gently removed his hand from Harry’s and stuck it in his pocket. He noticed Harry’s face fall and inwardly berated himself for being the reason for it. “Well. Thanks for the walk home. I...I appreciated the company.”

“Really?” Harry’s voice sounded unsure. There was an expression on his face that looked a little like hope, and Louis had to stop himself from kissing him right then, just to see what that tasted like.  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Sometimes, I can’t tell. You’re a little hard to read, Tomlinson.”

Louis shook his head and looked at his shoes. “I’ve been told as much. I…” he bit his lip and lifted his head to meet Harry’s eyes, “I’m working on it?”

“That’s okay. Maybe, you can keep working on it? And I can keep keeping you company?”

There were questions in Harry’s eyes that Louis wanted to answer. This was the time when people made agreements to see each other again, to go on a proper date, like a dinner, or a film. Or extended invitations to come over for tea and telly. But Louis’ flat was full of canvases and stencils, and paint and glue, and Louis wasn’t sure that there was room for someone like Harry. There was so much more Louis wanted to say: _I haven’t felt like this about anyone in a long time and I  want to spend more time with you, but I’m more afraid of this than I’ve ever been of anything in my life._

But those weren’t words Louis could say out loud.

“Maybe.” Louis cleared his throat and said, more firmly, “Yes.”

“Yes? Well, look at that.  We’re making progress already.” Harry grinned and lifted a hand in salute. “See you, around, Lou.”

“See you.”

Louis stood at the street corner and watched until Harry disappeared around the corner. Then, he turned and let himself into the gallery. He collapsed onto his chair with a whispered curse.

“Now what, Tommo? Guys like you don’t get guys like Harry. You don’t do relationships, Louis.” he said to himself.  “For good reason too. I mean, imagine cuddling in bed and then saying, oops, got to go tag a wall.” Louis rolled his eyes.  

The phone in his pocket buzzed and he fished it out. _Home in one piece. Thanks for tonight, Lou._

Louis hesitated and tapped out a reply. _Glad to hear it. Good night, Harry._

He studied it, deemed it harmless enough and pressed send. Then he opened up Instagram to see if he had missed anything.

seh_lens was the first photo to appear on his feed. Louis leaned forward, elbows on his knees to study it more closely.

It wasn’t exactly street art. Just a spray painted heart on what looked like a utility box. 

But something about it intrigued Louis. This seh_lens, whoever he was seemed to see something beautiful, something hopeful, in what was, well, nothing much really. 

The design Louis had been considering solidified in his mind as he gazed at the photo on his phone. He took a deep breath and closed the app.

Louis had seen too many people get hurt. His own mom had gone through hell and back before finding happiness with his step-father. Louis didn’t know if he had what it took to do that. He’d always considered himself squarely in the “better to have never loved at all” side of things. And then there were people like his mom. Or even Zayn. Take tonight, for example. Zayn met Liam and just like that, they were talking about dates and phone calls and sharing their passion for comic books. Zayn had hearts in his eyes and didn’t even try to hide them. Zayn and Liam were the people who just put their hearts out there because they really believed love was worth it. Maybe this seh_lens was like that too. Maybe Louis envied it a bit.

Louis didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. Instead, he put his heart on walls all over the city. Most people would never know it was him.

But, Louis had a message to send too. He hoped someone would get it.

\--

Harry blew on the tea in his cup and took a sip.

_Perfect._

As he spread a little butter on his toast, he thought about Liam and Zayn. It had been a couple of weeks since the night at the pub and Liam and Zayn spent most of their free time together. Harry wasn’t all that surprised that Liam had hit it off with Zayn. Seeing them together actually made sense, even though Liam still looked like a uni student in his button down oxford shirt and Zayn was in a white t-shirt stained with paint and jeans ripped at the knees. They had gone out most nights this week and because Liam was the sweetest and best friend in all the world, Harry had been invited to join them. At least sometimes.

And then there was Louis. Or rather, there wasn’t.

Apparently, Zayn had tried inviting Louis as well, but he always had a reason to beg off.

Despite the fact that Zayn had been largely unsuccessful in getting Louis to join them for dinner or drinks, Harry had managed to see Louis again, on his own, a couple of times. They weren’t dates, exactly, at least not the sort to which Harry was accustomed. More like random cups of tea at odd hours of the day. Or funny little text messages about the gallery or irate collectors who wanted what they wanted and wanted it now. It was always very nice to hear from Louis, Harry thought. Louis was interesting and he was also interested: in Harry, in photography, in the world. It was a pleasant change from Nick, and Harry enjoyed every minute of their conversations.

But he wanted more.

But he also didn’t want to rush Louis into anything he wasn’t ready for, even though Harry sensed that little by little, Louis’ walls were coming down.  Harry thought back to a few night ago, when he had been out covering an event for another magazine. It had ended later than Harry had expected and having been too preoccupied with taking photographs, he hadn’t remembered to have any of the lovely spread that had been on offer. As he made his way home, he decided to stop to get some Chinese takeaway, only to find Louis in line ahead of him.

“We really should stop meeting like this,” Harry said, with a smile, as he came up behind him.

“Oh! Harry!” Louis fumbled with the carton of food he bought and the bulky bag on his shoulder.

 “What...why are you...let me help you with that,” Harry said, reaching for the bag.

“No!” Louis said, his voice sharp. “I’ve got the bag, no worries.” Louis softened his tone and handed him the bag of takeaway. You can hold on to that though, if you really want to help?” 

Harry took the bag of food and looked at Louis with a curious expression. “Have it your way. Your bag looks really heavy though. What’s in it?"

Louis waved his hand dismissively. “Zayn asked me to get him some supplies. Lazy git.”

Harry made a face. “At this time of night?”

“Ah, no. I bought it earlier, then...got caught up with work at the gallery and didn’t get to take it over to his flat. It can wait til tomorrow. Aren’t you ordering?”

“Oh, yeah...just a minute.” Harry placed his order and once the bag of food was in his hand, turned to Louis. “Dinner of champions!”

Louis smiled and said, “I was going to go home and eat this in front of the telly alone. But, if you fancy some company…” Louis’s voice trailed off and he shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot.

Harry had never been the shy type and was not one to pass up an opportunity to ask a fit lad to have dinner or go see a film with him. Looking at Louis now, Harry knew just how much nerve it had taken for him to extend that invitation. And Harry loved him for it, for trying.  Harry knew that he was not imagining their connection, that Louis probably felt it too, despite how hard he seemed to be trying to resist it.

“I would love some company.”

The naked relief on Louis’ face made Harry feel almost breathless with the need to reassure him. For a moment Harry allowed himself to imagine what it might be like to have Louis in his bed. How it might feel to take him apart with his mouth and his hands; Louis, beneath him, soft, pliant, needy. And then, to have Louis, above him. Hard and hungry, intense and focused on one thing and one thing only: Harry.

“You could come over to mine. It’s not far from here,” Harry offered.

“You don’t think Liam will mind?”

“Not at all,” Harry said with a smile.

When they arrived at the flat, it turned out Liam wasn’t even home. “Probably at Zayn’s,” Harry said and Louis nodded.

“They really have something don’t they?” Louis said, his voice thoughtful.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Harry said. “I’m happy for them.”

Louis nodded and walked around the living room as Harry prepared the dining table. He held up a DVD. “ _Batman_ ,” he rolled his eyes. “I might as well be in Zayn’s flat.”

Harry chuckled as he emptied the cartons of food into proper dishes. Louis came up to the table and grinned. “I usually eat out of the carton myself. This is very nice." 

“I’ll have you know I don’t bring out the good plates for just anyone,” Harry said with a laugh. “Come on. We should eat before it gets cold.”

Over dinner, Louis asked questions about the event Harry worked that day. Harry found himself telling Louis everything: the things that had gone well, the challenges, the decisions he made about shot selection. He even pulled out his camera to show Louis some of the photographs.

Louis scrolled through the shots and looked up at Harry, admiration on his face. “These are great. Ever consider putting up a show? I think your work would look great at The Anchor.”

“Really? I’d never thought of it. You think I could do it? An exhibit?”

“I do.  I think it would be a real hit. We could meet again and talk it over? I mean, there are shots here that I would love to see blown up full size and framed… hey…”  Louis protested when Harry took the camera out of his hands and set it carefully on the table.

Harry hesitated briefly and brushed his fingers against Louis’ cheek. Louis flinched slightly, then relaxed into his touch. Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Louis’. Louis’ hands came up to Harry’s shoulders and for a moment, Harry wondered if Louis was pushing him away. He began to pull back, but Louis’ fingers curled into the material of Harry’s jumper to keep him close. Louis’ opened his mouth slightly, but when Harry’s tongue touched his, Louis gasped and pulled away, eyes squeezed shut, breathless.

“I...I’m sorry…” Harry began speaking, his voice hoarse.

Louis opened his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not.”

Harry sighed. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that. So, you mean,” Harry scooted his chair closer to Louis and curled his hand around the back of Louis’ neck, “you wouldn’t mind if I…”

Louis met Harry halfway this time and let Harry deepen the kiss, but when Harry stood and drew Louis up with him, Louis pressed his palm against Harry’s chest and pulled away.

“Harry..I…” Louis took a deep breath. “I should probably go.”

Harry nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah...I mean...Not that I want you to go, just that, if you think you should…”

Louis laughed softly and impulsively stretched up to press a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. “I should. But..thank you for the company. It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Thank you...for everything, I guess.”

Harry smiled. “I enjoyed myself too. I’m glad you were looking for company tonight.”

They said subdued goodbyes and at the door, Harry reached out to take Louis’ hand. “Don’t be a stranger.” Louis had simply smiled, squeezed Harry’s fingers in his and turned to walk away.

Since then, Harry hadn’t heard anything. He would be lying if he said he weren’t bothered. But, thinking back to the memory of Louis’ mouth on his and the grip of his hands on his shoulders, Harry was sure there was something there. He had started 101 messages to Louis, asking in varying tones what the hell was going on, but discarded each one, not wanting to scare Louis off. Instead, he bombarded Liam with texts ranging from “I’m done. I have no idea what’s going on with him” to “Why won’t he text me LIAAAAAAAAM!” But he had done this before: thrown himself headlong into relationships, doing too much, too soon. Patience won out out, as Harry had woken up this morning to a new message on his phone. Louis had sent an apologetic text, explaining that he was preparing a new exhibit, with a second message soon after.

 _We should see each other soon._  

Harry took another sip of his tea and thought about how much it must have taken for Louis to send the message and tried to tamp down on the ticklish, butterflies in his stomach feeling that gave him. Suddenly, the front door of his flat creaked and opened slowly, and Liam crept in, shoes off, obviously trying to be quiet.

  
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” Harry drawled. 

Liam started, then groaned, dropped his shoes and shut the door behind him. “Very funny, Harry. Also, is there any tea left?”

Liam lowered himself into the chair opposite Harry and rubbed his eyes.

“Are you sure tea is enough? Maybe you need something a little more bracing? Some coffee? Whiskey?”

“Ha-bloody-ha. But coffee would be great. Strong.” 

Harry stood up and began bustling around the little kitchen. “Toast?”

“Please.”

Harry grinned. “So, do I have to torture it out of you? Or are you going to tell me where you were all night?”

Liam smiled, sheepishly. “Was at Zayn’s.”

“Your first sleepover! You whore,” Harry said with affection.

“It wasn’t like that, Harry,” Liam said, leaning forward on the table, eager to make Harry understand. “We just…we talked all night. He’s amazing. His flat is like a gallery in itself. It’s like a gallery of…”

Harry placed a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of toast in front of Liam. “Of?” Harry sat. 

Liam took a sip of coffee. “Everything Zayn loves. Comic books. Art. Graffiti. Music. His family. Seeing his flat is like seeing his heart. And it’s…beautiful.”

“So, I guess you’re going to see him again?”

“Yeah.” Liam chuckled, then went on. “Zayn has this idea that I should attend one of his drawing classes. Thinks I could be a natural.” Liam bit off a corner of toast, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “He also has some sick ideas for tattoos.”

“For you?”

“Yeah. Imagine that.”

After knowing someone for just over a week, Liam was willing to mark his skin permanently, just because someone said they had an idea for a tattoo. Liam was all in.

Harry had to admit that, now, even after Nick, he was that guy too. The one who went all in. If you wanted a big love, you had to be brave.

You had to put your heart out there.

“How are you and Louis getting on?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Is that you or Zayn asking? Did you talk to him? About me and Louis?”

“Yes., but he doesn’t know you asked me about Louis. He brought you up!” Liam flashed Harry a cheesy grin. “He thinks you two really hit it off…did you? You had dinner the other night, right?”

Harry leaned back in his seat. “Yeah. Yeah, we did. About us hitting it off, I don’t know. I think we might have.” Harry flashed back momentarily to the kiss they shared. “He’s...tough to figure out” 

Liam nodded, sympathy written all over his face. “Zayn mentioned that Louis is a challenge. Complicated. But says that’s how Louis is. It’s not you.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at his friend.  “So you spent your first sleepover talking about me and Zayn?”

“Shut it, Harry. But, yes, we talked about you two,” Liam said. “You’re our friends. Zayn is just worried about Louis. Thinks he might be lonely, that he needs someone to talk to. That’s all. I mean, sort of like me…with you.”

Harry nodded. “Louis is lucky then. To have him. And yes, Liam, I know how lucky I am to have you.”

 “So what are your plans today?” Liam asked, after a sip of his drink.

Harry leaned back in his chair. “Am going to go see Niall. I think I’ve gotten as far as I can with my portfolio now? And...yeah, I gave him a call and he said to come on over and show him what I’ve got.”

Niall Horan was Harry’s agent and though Harry had been nervous about calling him, he also knew his portfolio was strong and he trusted Niall to give him good opportunities.

“Mate! That’s amazing news!”

“It is, right? I’m...excited. For the first time in a long time.”

“Well, since you got started with the good news, I’ve got good news too!” Liam beamed. “The magazines are done! Pass by the office around four? You can pick up your copies.” Liam paused, then continued, his tone nonchalant. “Maybe you can pick up some extras? Deliver them to Louis at the gallery?”

Harry chuckled. “Liam, you are a wonderful friend. But subtle you are not.”

Liam looked at him with mock offense. “I was just making a suggestion! Anyway, I’ve got to get ready for work. Thanks for the coffee.” Liam stood up and made his way to his bedroom.

Harry smiled as he listened to Liam singing as he showered and dressed. It was nice to hear.

So Louis was complicated, eh?

Harry wasn’t averse to complicated. The complicated ones tended to be worth the effort and he was pretty sure Louis would be too.

That afternoon, Harry had a good feeling as he arrived at Niall Horan’s office building. He pushed the door of the office building open and grinned at the security guard posted at the entrance.

“On my way up to see the man,” Harry called out.

“Go ahead, Mr. Styles!”

Harry stepped into the lift that would take him to Niall’s office. He hummed a little as it made its way up. He greeted the receptionist, who waved him on through.

“Hello, Nialler!”

“Harry! Have a seat! I haven’t seen you in ages! So,” he said, conspiratorially, once Harry had gotten comfortable, “how have you been?”

Harry made a face. “Well, you know. I was…on hiatus for a bit.”

Niall looked sympathetic. “I heard about the breakup. Are you okay?”

“Getting there,” Harry replied. “I did start working again. And so here I am.”

“He didn’t deserve you anyway, mate. He did, however, deserve the scathing review he got in the paper today,” Niall said.

Harry laughed. “Scathing, eh?”

“Oh, the reviewer went on a rampage: called him pretentious, self-indulgent...I wouldn’t be showing my face around town any time soon if I were him.” 

“Well. I hope my work passes muster with you and you give me a good review,” Harry said as he raised his portfolio.

Niall reached out for the folder.. “Show me, show me.”

Harry passed it over to him and Niall laid it open on his desk.

“Oh. Oh, these are good, mate. So good.”

“Yeah. They’re not bad, considering I’m rusty.”

“It doesn’t show a bit. I already have an idea for some jobs that your style would be perfect for.”

“Oh that sounds great. Really.” Harry said with relief.  

“But, hey, you didn’t need my help to get back in the game. I saw your work in Liam’s magazine,” Niall said, leaning back in his chair. 

“What?”

Niall handed a magazine to Harry over the desk. “Great work, mate. I mean, solid stuff.”

“Liam told me the magazines were done, but I hadn’t picked up my copies yet,” Harry said, flipping through the pages trying to locate the story.

Harry had forgotten that when he turned the photos over to Liam, he gave him everything.

_Everything._

Including the photos Harry had stolen of Louis from the day at the gallery, the day of Zayn’s art lessons. Louis hadn’t noticed him and Harry hadn’t thought to keep those photos for himself. One of which Liam had seen fit to use as the first photo in the story’s spread... Louis looked amazing. Sharp cheekbones, ice-blue eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul, even from the page.

“There’s something about those photos, Harry,” Niall said, his voice thoughtful, leaning forward to peer at the pages himself..

“What do you mean?” Harry said, still absorbed in studying the photos.

“Are the two of you dating?”

“What?” Harry squawked. "No!"

“Sorry!” Niall laughed. “It’s just…those photos, they look like they were taken by someone who…well…has feelings.”

“Well…”

Niall whooped and punched a triumphant fist in the air. “Ha! I knew it.”

“No, no! There’s nothing, you know nothing!” Harry said, laughing himself now. “I mean. This guy, Louis? He’s just…he’s great. Look at him he’s beautiful. And he’s smart and funny. It’s just…He’s very very….guarded..”

“Well... Relationships are scary” Niall said, his tone matter-of-fact.. “But he’d be lucky to have you, you know.”

“Yeah. Well. That remains to be seen.” 

“Take him a copy of the magazine. If he has eyes, and since he's an art dealer, I’m guessing he does, he’ll see what I see.”

“You think?” Harry grinned, excitement beginning to bubble under his skin.  
  
“I do think. Take mine. I like playing matchmaker,” Niall said with a cheeky grin.

“Thanks mate. I’ll go now.”

“Go get ‘im, mate.”

Harry fumbled with his bags and magazine and hurried out of Niall’s office calling farewells over his shoulder. He rushed into the elevator and barely noticed who was inside.

“Harry?”

Harry turned to find Nick Grimshaw leaning against the mirrored back wall of the lift.

“Nick.” Harry’s tone was stiff.  “Cheers. How are you?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain,” Nick said. “You?”

“Real good. I just dropped my portfolio off at Niall’s office.”

“So, you’re doing your photography again?”

Harry bristled. He hated the way Nick said it. Even when they were together, he had hated it. Like Harry’s photography was a hobby, like Harry was playing at it, rather than a serious artist.

“Actually, I am. Just got published actually,” Harry said, holding up the magazine, “and Niall’s already got jobs lined up.”

“Nice of Horan to help you out,” Nick drawled.

Harry took a deep breath. “I hear you might be needing help too. After the bad reviews.”

Nick blanched and Harry grinned. “I guess the audiences have gotten more discerning. At least with my photography my clients have been more than satisfied. I think it has to do with the fact that I’m not so self-absorbed? At least,” Harry said, with a nonchalant shrug, “that’s what I’ve been told.”  The elevator bell dinged and Harry smiled. “This is me. See you around, Nick. Or not. Cheers!”

Harry couldn’t spare a single thought for Nick Grimshaw right now. Not when he had someone very important to talk to.

\---

Louis felt nervous, unsettled. Being in The Anchor normally had a calming effect on him, but today, nothing seemed to help: not the cup of tea, not the daily routine of opening shop, going through mail and other mundane things gallery owners had to do. He couldn't seem to make the buzzing feeling in his stomach go away. And he knew what was causing it. Or rather, who was causing it. Louis had tried not to overthink his feelings about Harry. But he couldn’t deny that Harry had been on his mind since the night they kissed. The dinner and the conversation had already been enough to make Louis consider the possibility that maybe he was the kind of person who “did” relationships. The kiss had sealed the deal.

Louis was busy cataloguing new pieces of art when the bell rang. He looked up, impatient, but his face relaxed into a smile when he saw Harry at the door.

Louis brushed his fringe off his forehead as he opened the door. “Harry. What’s up, you look excited about something.”  
  
Harry held up the magazine. “Wanted you to be the first to see it.”

Louis turned a shocked look to Harry and took the magazine from his hands. He walked slowly to his desk and put it down. He traced the letters that spelled ‘The Anchor’ on the magazine cover, then the letters of his name.

“Wow. Liam meant business didn’t he? I’m a cover story. Imagine that. My mum will be thrilled.” 

“Look inside, look at the photos.”

Louis nodded and riffled through the pages until he got to his photograph. “You…” Louis looked at Harry, disbelief on his face. “This was the day Zayn did his session. But I don’t remember this. You must have just been standing in the corner? Just taking photos...of me?”

Harry nodded.

“These photos,” Louis turned the page. “They’re amazing, Harry. Really. You’re a brilliant photographer. We really should talk about that exhibit of yours. I call dibs on your first show.”

“I’d be honoured.”

Louis turned back to the magazine.

“Is this what you see? When you look at me?”

Harry moved towards him. He gently brushed Louis' cheek with trembling fingers. “Yes.”

Louis closed his eyes at the feel of Harry’s hand against his skin. He turned slightly to press his lips against Harry’s palm, then pulled away from Harry and walked slowly to the door and locked it. Then he flipped over the open for the business sign and closed the blinds over the windows. He turned and stood with his back against the door, palms pressed flat against it.

“What do you see?” Louis asked, his voice, light in the silence of the gallery.

“I see you.”

Harry walked towards Louis. Silently, he slid his hands under Louis’ jumper and pressed his mouth on his neck. Louis settled his hands on Harry’s hips and pulled him close, dizzy with the feel of Harry’s body pressed against his. Harry lifted his head and sought Louis’ mouth. Gone was the frenzied energy of the first kiss. First kisses were overrated, Louis thought. First kisses were nervous and skittish. Second kisses were the kisses that made you decide whether you wanted to kiss this person again.

Or forever.

Harry kissed like he took photographs: sensed opportunities, took cues, acted on instinct. He seemed keenly aware of Louis, observant about what made Louis’ gasp or dig his fingers into Harry’s waist. When Louis pressed his hips against Harry, the pressure between them was so intense, Harry pulled away, choking out Louis’ name.

“You feel so good…”

Louis took Harry’s hand and they walked to the back room where Zayn had been gathering materials for his class. Louis led him towards the beat up couch in the corner then turned to face Harry. He released Harry’s hand and wordlessly pulled off his shirt. Harry stepped towards him and let Louis tug off his shirt. They sank onto the couch, Louis mouth tracing a hot trail down Harry’s skin, fingers trailing down Harry’s torso, committing the planes of his body to memory. Louis wanted to taste every tattoo on Harry’s’ body and he set out to do just that, Harry’s rapid breathing like music to his ears.

“This butterfly is amazing.”

“I like it.” Harry said. “I like you.” Harry pulled him down and kissed him, long, slow, deep. Louis felt the tension and the urgency in Harry’s body. Louis could feel how much Harry wanted him and Louis wanted him too, wanted everything. In the dizzy moments between kisses, Louis wondered how possible it was to want so much and still be so afraid, to still have so many questions: _Is this for real? I am ready? Will you still want me when you know me, everything about me?_ Louis felt his body respond to Harry’s every touch, he forced himself to slow it down, grateful that Harry didn’t push him for more.  When Harry palmed over Louis’s bum, Louis buried his face in Harry’s neck to muffle his moan.

“I don’t do this. I don’t usually do this,” Louis murmured.

“Bring up and coming photographers into your office and kiss them senseless, you mean?” The laughter in Harry’s voice put Louis at ease and he relaxed into the curve of Harry’s body. 

Louis pinched him and snuggled into his side, as he pressed kisses down the column of his neck. “No, I mean...I don’t kiss just anyone. You’re the first person I’ve ever brought back here like this.”

Harry curled into Louis’ side with a satisfied sigh. “So maybe that means you like me.”

“Maybe it does,” Louis said, yawning.

“Are you tired? I can go home—”

Louis squeezed Harry’s waist and said, “Don’t leave yet.”

Harry laughed and kissed Louis again.

Between kisses they talked in hushed tones about the exhibit Louis was already planning in his mind for Harry’s photographs. Occasionally, they stopped talking at all, as they put their tongues to better use. Finally, Harry’s body relaxed and grew heavy beside Louis. His breathing evened out and he fell asleep. Louis dozed off for a bit too, Harry’s warmth soothing beside him.

But in a couple of hours, Louis was wide awake. He gingerly got up, careful to not wake Harry. He looked down at Harry’s sleeping frame, a fond smile on his face. He would have stayed there, but he had been sitting on an idea for a wall and he had the components done and the thought of doing it right now, this very minute, just wouldn’t go away. He slipped into the bathroom, cleaned up and pulled on a fresh shirt.  He scrawled a note on a piece of paper and put it where Harry would be sure to see it.

_Popped out for a bit. Couldn’t sleep. I’ll be back soon._

He slipped on his hoodie and picked up his supply bag and was out the door, swallowed by the shadows, one with the night.

When Louis came back to the gallery, Harry was tying his hair up in a headscarf.

Louis stood in the doorway, watching him. “Hey.”  
  
Harry looked up and his face lit up with relief. “You’re back. I wasn’t sure. If I could…” he gestured around.

“You saw my note right?” Louis said.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t know…I was just…worried.”

“Don’t be” Louis walked over and bent down to kiss Harry’s forehead.

“Where did you go anyway?” Harry asked as he stood up.

“Oh. I just walked around mostly,” Louis said.

“At night, really?” Harry said with a curious expression on his face.

“Helps me think sometimes. The city is different at night.”

“Guess it is.” Harry checked his watch and made a face. “I should get going. Liam is probably wondering where I am.”

Louis grinned. “Sorry to make you do the walk of shame.”

Harry smiled back. “I’m not.”

Louis walked Harry out and they stood on the sidewalk, silent. Before Louis could say anything, Harry reached out and gripped his upper arm, thumb pressed into the stag on Louis’ bicep, and pulled him closer.  Louis made a sound of surprise but allowed Harry to draw him into a kiss. 

Louis’ thoughts were a whirl. He was kissing someone. Not just someone. _Harry._ Outside his gallery, that was full of everything he loved and that Harry seemed to love too.

So maybe he was ready?

Or not.

Because nobody was ever really ready, were they? To show someone their heart? But, with Harry’s mouth on his, Louis figured that maybe he was as ready as he was ever going to be. 

\--

Liam wasn’t even at the flat when Harry got home, which made Harry think maybe he and Zayn had another sleepover.

After a proper bath and breakfast, Harry sat down at his computer to do some work. He checked emails—noted some jobs Niall had scheduled for him and answered some from his sister and his mum. He leaned back in his chair and got his phone out. He checked his Instagram—he hadn’t posted in a couple of days, but nothing he had on his phone seemed worth the bother. He scrolled through his feed and one of the street art account he followed had posted something that caught his eye.

The image of a man drawing a heart on the wall was whimsical, charming. 

Harry appreciated the contrast between the black and white that was used to depict the man and the bright red of the heart.

Harry chewed on his lip and went back to his feed.

_Well._

It was a week since he had posted the simple spray painted heart that he had seen on his way home from The Anchor. He switched back to the street art account.  Something about this piece, Harry mused, as he gazed at the photo he had taken of it, seemed to be a sort of response to his Instagram post and the (only slightly) cheesy caption he gave it. Not everyone wore their heart on their sleeve maybe, but sometimes, you couldn’t tell where people’s hearts were. Sometimes, where you least expected it, maybe even beneath the suited and booted exterior of the man on the street, beat the blood-red heart of a true romantic.

Of course, it was just a coincidence, wasn’t it? It couldn’t possibly have been a response.

But, it sure was one of those things that made you wonder. The universe was a funny thing. Sometimes, you just got the little messages you needed at just the right moment. 

Harry hadn’t even been all that surprised that the artist turned out to be the same one who had put up the Dream piece that had lit a fire under his ass and, well, had even gotten him published. Harry grinned.  
  
He owed A.M. a bonus. Or at the very least a pint.

Harry decided he wanted to see the piece in person. As he walked, he thought about what had happened between him and Louis. It was early days, but Harry already knew. He was all in.

Liam had said Zayn’s flat was a gallery of everything he loved. That it was like seeing Zayn’s heart. He wondered if maybe The Anchor was the same for Louis. It made sense. But, Harry wasn’t convinced. There had to be something more and he was determined to find it.

When Harry finally got to the wall with the street art on it, he had to admit, it was even more impressive than the photos. Harry took several shots, then stopped to check them, a smile on his lips.

“Harry?”

Harry looked up and his eyes widened in surprise.

Louis stood before him, looking even better than Harry remembered. His shirt was loose around his neck, buttons open enough so that Harry caught a glimpse of the tattoo inked across his chest. It took all of Harry’s willpower to stop himself from reaching out to press his fingertips into Louis’ skin.

“Louis.”

Louis glanced at Harry’s camera, then his eyes flicked quickly to the wall. “Did you get the shot you wanted?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. There’s something about this one…” Harry shook his head. “I think it’s pretty special. And it looks like I’m not alone.”

Louis’ eyes lit up. “Yeah?” Louis gestured to the camera. “You willing to share?”

Harry smiled and tilted the camera towards him, a subtle invitation to share his space. Louis hesitated briefly, then stepped closer, cupping his hand over Harry’s to share the view.

“That’s a great shot. Belongs on the wall of a gallery, that one.”

Harry considered that for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Is it the photo that works, or the object itself?”

Louis lifted his eyes to study Harry’s face, so close and lovely. “Maybe it’s both. Maybe they work together.”

Harry met his eyes and nodded. “Maybe.”

They stood like that for a moment. Then Louis shook himself and laughed nervously. “I should get back to the gallery. I left Zayn there, but…for some reason, he can teach people how to draw but he’s hopeless at talking to customers.”

Louis lifted his face and Harry kissed Louis, his lips as soft as a promise, and released him.

“Will I see you tonight? I can come to the gallery. Or you could come to mine. Since Liam’s usually over at Zayn’s these days.”

Louis shook his head. “Umm. Tonight? No, maybe not…there’s some…business I have to attend to tonight…” 

Concern flashed over Harry’s face. “Do you need company? Is it serious?"

Louis grinned and kissed the concern off Harry’s face. “No. It’s not serious and it’s something I need to do myself.”

Harry didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Louis was already walking away, but he turned and smiled. “Tomorrow.”

Harry watched Louis walk away. He wasn’t sure whether he quite bought what Louis was telling him. If Liam and Zayn were to be believed, all the nights that they had invited him out, Louis had declined, claiming to be “busy.” 

But the gallery was closed at night, unless there were special events.

So, what exactly what Louis busy with?

Harry thought about this as he made his way to Liam’s office. It felt like he hadn’t seen Liam in days and he needed Liam’s level-headed and easy calm. By the time he got to Liam’s office building, it was around noon. He knocked on Liam’s office door and upon hearing Liam’s cheery, “Come in!” opened the door.

“Care to come to lunch with me, Li?”

“Harry! What a surprise!” Liam looked at his watch and shrugged. “Seems as good a time as any to take a break, what have you got in mind?”

“Oh, anything really. A sandwich and a cuppa?”

“Cheers, I know just the place.”

As they walked to the café Liam suggested, Liam seemed to pick up on Harry’s mood.

“What’s up mate? Something on your mind?”

“I guess.” Harry shook his head. “But I haven’t gotten my thoughts wrapped around it yet, so, you first. It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Liam blushed, which set Harry laughing. “Oh, Liam. Have you been taken advantage of?”

“Oi! What makes you think I haven’t been the one taking advantage then?” Liam said, in mock offense.

“Because you’re Liam and you’re wonderful and careful and cautious and in the entire time that I’ve known you, you have never made the first move.”

Liam rubbed his cheek bashfully. “Fine. But I’ll have you know there has been no advantage taking. It’s all been…” Liam sighed happily. “Wonderful.”

Harry tucked his arm into Liam’s and squeezed. “I’m glad.”

“So, what about you?”

Harry didn’t respond, so Liam pressed. “Is it Lou?”

“Yeah. We…” Harry bit his lip, “well, let’s just say I ended up crashing at his gallery the other night.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “Really? Are you…okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Liam, I’m ace. Louis’ ace. He’s brilliant and funny and so, so lovely I sometimes don’t know what to do with myself. But, there are also times, where I think I don’t know him at all. And of course, I don’t. We’re still getting to know each other, right? Except…Louis is a great listener. But, he doesn’t talk about himself. At all.”

Liam thought that over. “Yeah, you’re right. It was like pulling teeth at that interview. You were there. He just takes a little time to warm up is all.” 

“Maybe.”

“There’s something else, though?”

“Yeah. I woke up early, and he wasn’t there. He left a note,” Harry said hurriedly, seeing Liam’s expression turn sour. “Said he was having trouble sleeping so he went out to walk around.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yeah. I thought it was strange too.”

Finally at the café, they took a window table and ordered, then Liam prodded Harry to tell him more.

“So, what now?”

Harry shrugged. “I invited him out tonight. But, he said he was busy.”

Liam made a face. “Busy?”

“Yeah. So.” Harry’s voice trailed off. “He feels worth it, Liam. But I hate feeling like there’s something he’s not telling me.”

Liam’s face was the perfect picture of sympathy. “Come out with me and Zayn tonight. You can pick his brain about Louis. Since he’s known him forever.”

“Okay. Just don’t be that couple.” 

“What do you mean?”  
  
“The couple that’s disgustingly happy and makes everybody hate their own sad sorry lives.”

Liam stirred too much sugar into his tea, took a sip and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Harry.”

 --

Louis scribbled furiously. The design was there, in his mind, and he wanted to capture it before it disappeared. Then he wanted to put it on a wall so that everybody could see it. He paused and inspected his drawing with satisfaction. It was a risk, going out again, after tagging a wall just the night before. But, the design was begging to be done. Louis’ body vibrated with urgency. He didn’t know if he could wait much longer. 

For the first time though, the design wasn’t something inspired by something from seh_lens’ IG account. And in a way, Louis was glad. It had been fun, riffing off the photos on his IG feed, but there was something immensely satisfying about making something that was based on something in Louis’ real life.

Harry had invited him out tonight and though Louis wanted to say yes, this…this had to come first. Louis didn’t know why, but this message felt different. People would see it. They wouldn’t understand exactly what Louis meant by it. But they would see it. And they would put their own meanings to it, and that was fine. It was why Louis did it in the first place.

But for the first time in a long time, Louis intended this particular design for a special person.

Maybe soon, he’d have words enough to share them out loud.

He gazed out the window of his office at the darkening sky, waiting for his time.

\--- 

“See, even back in art school, Louis had those tendencies…” Zayn said, through a mouthful of chips.

“What tendencies?” Harry asked, curious.

“I guess, loner tendencies?” Zayn said. “Art school was rough. Not everyone makes it out in one piece. It’s hard, when you show people something that means everything to you and they don’t get it.”

“Did that happen? To Louis?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. But, he managed to make it through. But, I think he felt like he had to compromise, you know? He’s smart, see? He sort of just figured out exactly what professors wanted and he gave them that. Put just enough of himself into it, so it wouldn’t look like that was what he was doing?” Zayn shook his head. “He’s a bloody genius, he is. But, I guess, he decided he didn't want to compromise anymore. And it was easier to just...well, be the way he is."

“What about you? How come it was easier for you?”

“Don’t know. Maybe I was lucky. Sometimes it’s like that. Maybe at the time we were in school, my style was what people were looking for.”

“So, that’s why put up a gallery instead,” Liam said, thoughtfully. “Easier to sell other people’s art than his own.”

Zayn nodded. “Something like that.”

Harry was silent. He hated the thought of Louis giving up on himself. It didn’t seem like the kind of person Louis was. Then again, Harry didn’t really know who Louis was, did he?

“But, Harry, Lou’s a good person, you know?” Zayn said, his voice earnest. “Him leaving you like that…he wasn’t trying to hurt you, or anything. He’s just, working things out. He’s not really good at relationships. Or letting people in.”

Harry laughed, but there was little humour in it. “Yeah. I guess not.”

“Give him a chance,” Zayn said. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

Liam deftly changed the subject and soon they were chatting about something else, something not as serious, or raw, or close to Harry’s heart. They stayed out later then Harry had intended, and when Liam and Zayn invited him over for a nightcap at Zayn’s flat, Harry had actually considered the invitation.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude though.”

“You wouldn’t, I promise,” Zayn said with a smile.

“You’re always welcome with us, you know that, mate.”

But Harry declined, saying he could use the walk and the fresh air to think.  
  
“If it works for Louis, maybe it will work for me.”

Liam pulled him into a tight hug and whispered, “Send me a message when you get home?”

Harry nodded, said his goodbyes and exited the pub, grateful for the cool breeze on his face. He didn’t stay out this late very often, and he buried his hands in his pockets, taking in the city by night. Or, by early morning, more like. 

He wasn’t the only one out in the streets though. Occasionally, he would come upon groups of friends, rowdy from pub crawls, couples kissing under street lights, and the solitary walker, like himself. A couple of times, Harry even considered taking out his camera to capture the evening scenes. As he turned the corner of a quiet, poorly lit street, a movement caught his eye and stopped in his tracks.

  
A figure clad in a black hoodie was crouched by a wall, peering up at a large painting. The individual shook a spray can, left his tag and then began gathering up his supplies in a bag. He stood up, took one last look at the work he left on the wall then turned and began jogging to the corner where Harry stood, frozen.

The hoodie-clad stranger had his eyes on the ground and didn’t even notice Harry, until he bumped into him.

“Sorry, mate,” he said, “just trying to get by…”

Then, he looked up and…

“Louis?” Harry croaked.

The blue eyes that gazed into Harry’s were unmistakable.

“Harry… did you…” Panic-stricken, Louis looked behind him at the wall, he’d just finished tagging, then back at Harry.

“See? Yes, I did.” Harry took a few steps towards the wall, then looked back at Louis, curious. “Is this you? This is what you do?”

Louis rubbed his face, nervous. “Sometimes. Yeah.”

Harry walked right up to the wall and Louis, helpless, followed him.

“It’s...This is brilliant, Louis.”

Louis looked up at it, his eyes filled with pride. “It’s been on my mind since…since last night…when we…” Louis’ couldn’t finish his sentences. 

Harry pressed a palm flat against his torso, where the butterfly tattoo was.

“This is…This is me.”

“This is you.” Louis said.

“And this is what you had to do because you were busy?”

“Yeah.”

“And all the other nights before that?” Harry moved towards Louis and put his hands on his waist to pull him close. Louis dropped his bag on the sidewalk and let Harry draw him in, his hands gripping Harry’s shoulders.

“And all the other nights…” Before Louis could finish speaking, Harry had captured his lips in a kiss that tasted like tenderness and relief. Harry began laughing before he could end the kiss and Louis felt the giddy, dizzy, sensations of that laughter cascade through his body.

“Why are you laughing?” Louis asked, his arms still around Harry.

“Because, I thought you had some deep, dark, dirty secret and instead it’s this…” Harry gestured to the wall. “And it’s beautiful. Wait…” Harry noticed the tag and eyes wide, he released Louis and fumbled for his phone. “Wait, you’re…A….” Turning the tables on Harry, Louis swallowed the rest of Harry’s words with a kiss.

He released Harry, breathless, and said sweetly, “Not so fucking loud, you idiot.”

“But,” Harry ran one hand through his dishevelled hair and navigated his phone with the other. “This is you, I see your work every day, on these street accounts and the other day…the man with the heart…"

“I wanted to tell you then,” Louis murmured. “But I didn’t know how. I’ve kept the secret so long, I don’t how to not keep it, I guess.” He glanced around, suddenly nervous, and picked up his bag. “Let’s start walking. You can come over to mine, since” he looked sidelong at Harry beside him, “we have no secrets.”

As they walked, Louis told Harry everything. Some of it Zayn already covered, but the rest of it was new: how Louis had decided that the streets would be his outlet, to send messages both personal and political, how he would express himself and hopefully others as well.

When they reached Louis’ flat, Harry took in the canvases stretched along the walls, the cans of spray paint and the stencils and pulled Louis into his arms. They sank onto the floor, surrounded by Louis’ art and art supplies and all the secrets that Louis kept came out into the open: in whispers and breathless gasps, in kisses and fingertips pressed into flesh, and in the wordless slide of skin against skin where tattoos met and melded together. Harry gazed at Louis above him, free and lovely, and falling apart, and felt himself careening over the edge, tumbling headlong into his release. He looked at Louis’ hand flat against the butterfly on his torso, and then reached up to slide his own palm against Louis’ chest.

_I see you, Louis Tomlinson. I see you._

Afterwards, Harry held Louis close and asked the million and one questions that suddenly seemed important.

“Where do you get your ideas?”

Louis made a sleepy sound but replied. “Everywhere, really. I have Instagram too, you know.”

“Oh really, who do you follow?”

“A bunch of people. There was one in particular whose feed I quite liked. Took a lot of inspiration from them and turned them into graffiti. Almost felt like I was having a conversation with them. Too bad,” Louis yawned, “we’ll probably never meet in real life.”

Harry had gone still as he listened to Louis and struggled to keep his voice steady as he replied.

“Really? That’s cool. Who’s that?”

“A photographer. Does a lot of street shots? Really good eye, and a lot of attention to detail. ”

Harry rolled Louis over and climbed on top of him, elbows bracketed around Louis’ head.

“Wait...is it seh_lens?” Harry asked, his voice suddenly urgent.

“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s it. Lots of hipster, black and white shots,” Louis said, slowly catching up to what Harry had already realized. “Is that…wait, is that—”  .

“Hipster?” Harry buried his face in Louis’ neck, weak with laughter. “Is that really what you think of my work?”

Louis pulled Harry up and swallowed his laughter with a kiss then pulled away with a grin. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Harry shook his head and gazed down at Louis. His fingers traced the delicate bones of his face and danced over the tattoo on his chest. “It figures doesn’t it? All this time. You were right there.”

“All this time.”

Harry rolled onto his back again and pulled Louis on top of him.

“Zayn was right about you surprising me, then. But he could never have guessed this.”

“And you can’t tell him, okay?” Louis said. “Not yet. Promise?”

“Our secret, Lou.”

As Louis’ breathing settled and sleep began to overtake them both, Harry whispered, “No leaving this time? Stay?”

“’Till the A.M.”

  
**Epilogue**

Louis scribbled on his sketchpad as he sat at his desk in The Anchor. He and Harry had spent the weekend away, their first together, up north and he was behind on his designs. 

His phone buzzed with a notification and Louis sighed and picked it up.

seh_lens posted a photograph.

 

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to the artists whose work I used in this fic:  
> Dream: ICY and SOT  
> Dog and hydrant: Banksy  
> Man spraypainting a heart: Nick Walker  
> Butterfly: Ludo
> 
> IG photos are from Harry Styles' account, except for the last photo, which is from Louis Tomlinson's IG.  
> (I was sure the one with the spray painted heart was Harry's but for some reason I can't find it in his feed. If I've mistakenly attributed it to him, my sincerest apologies and thanks to whoever this photo belongs to.)


End file.
